Third Party (The River Saga Book Three) Read online

  Contents

  Third Party (The River Saga Book Three)

  Copyright © 2022

  Books By Nathan Hystad

  PROLOGUE

  ONE

  TWO

  THREE

  FOUR

  FIVE

  SIX

  SEVEN

  EIGHT

  NINE

  TEN

  ELEVEN

  TWELVE

  THIRTEEN

  FOURTEEN

  FIFTEEN

  SIXTEEN

  SEVENTEEN

  EIGHTEEN

  NINETEEN

  TWENTY

  TWENTY-ONE

  TWENTY-TWO

  TWENTY-THREE

  TWENTY-FOUR

  TWENTY-FIVE

  TWENTY-SIX

  TWENTY-SEVEN

  TWENTY-EIGHT

  TWENTY-NINE

  THIRTY

  THIRTY-ONE

  THIRTY-TWO

  EPILOGUE

  The Realms (The River Saga Book Four)

  Copyright © 2022 Nathan Hystad

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other non-commercial uses permitted by copyright law.

  This is a work of fiction. All of the characters, names, incidents, organizations, and dialogue in this novel are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.

  Cover art: J Caleb Design

  Edited by: Christen Hystad

  Edited by: Scarlett R Algee

  Proofed and Formatted by: BZ Hercules

  Books By Nathan Hystad

  Keep up to date with his new releases by signing up for his Newsletter at www.nathanhystad.com

  And get Lights Over Cloud Lake for FREE!

  Nathan’s books are also available on Audible!

  The Bridge Sequence

  Lost Contact

  Lost Time

  Lost Hope

  Space Race

  Space Race

  Space Battle

  Space Strike

  The Survivors Series

  The Event

  New Threat

  New World

  The Ancients

  The Theos

  Old Enemy

  New Alliance

  The Gatekeepers

  New Horizon

  The Academy

  Old World

  New Discovery

  Old Secrets

  The Deities

  New Beginning

  New Lies

  The Colony

  New Galaxy

  The Portals

  Baldwin’s Legacy

  Confrontation

  Unification

  Culmination

  Hierarchy

  Lineage

  Legacy

  The Resistance Series

  Rift

  Revenge

  Return

  The Manuscript

  Lights Over Cloud Lake

  Red Creek

  Return to Red Creek

  PROLOGUE

  Indie Hart

  Location Unknown

  The Checkpoint’s lights pulsed as their Dread transported them and the eight surrounding Surial Tracers from the tunnel. The opposition flew in a rough formation, and Indie guessed they were trying to gather their bearings.

  “Zeel, what do we do?” she asked her Cepra companion.

  His arms wavered as he touched the metal box controlling his voice. “We were ordered to self-destruct to end the threat.”

  “Will it be enough?” She noticed the Tracers were lurking near the Dread, likely planning an attack strategy.

  “Yes. The link to the Ocean will create quite the catastrophic explosion. Anything within a thousand-kilometer radius could be lost.”

  If they blew themselves up, the Surial ships would be destroyed, massacring Indie and Zeel in the process. “What are our options?”

  The Cepra was disfigured: a pale, thin, and trembling version of his much larger brethren. But he was also smart, and Indie had to utilize that developed mind.

  “We could run,” he suggested. “But it violates my orders from the Third Dynast.”

  It always came back to Colton and the Rusa woman. Colton knew she’d killed Ambrose, and he’d never forgive her. It had been apparent in his reaction when he’d heard the news, and Indie figured going down in a blaze of glory might atone for her sins.

  “They’re nearing,” Zeel Three said. The projection of Benedar Laross shot from the box as Zeel’s voice carried from the speaker. He was a constant reminder that she wasn’t human, and it burned to think of everything she’d endured to end up an outcast.

  “Can you shut it off?” She indicated the wavering hologram of the tall Rusa leader, dead for thousands of years.

  It flashed and sputtered, the image evaporating. “Better?” His voice still worked, and that meant she could continue to communicate with the Cepra.

  “Yes. So, how do we self-destruct?” Her jaw clenched tightly.

  His three-digit hand reached for the control panel. “I can begin the sequence.”

  “What if we don’t? Could we stay and fight?”

  “There are only two of us, and eight targets,” Zeel Three said.

  “But the Dread is powerful, correct?” Indie hadn’t been able to flex her fighting skills for a while, and sensed an opportunity. Director Ulison and Wyla hadn’t trained her for nothing. Most of her abilities were in melee, but she’d read enough tactical war texts to drive anyone mad.

  “It has a vast array of weaponry…”

  “Then show me. Let’s defeat them.” And figure out how to travel home. She left this part unsaid, and the Cepra blinked its dark pumpkin-seed eyes.

  “As you desire.” Zeel guided her to the screen, demonstrating how the various systems worked. His teaching methods were concise, making the lesson expedited. Which was a good thing, since the Surial were gathering their nerve. One of the Tracers fired, the blast ineffectual against the Dread’s shields.

  “Can you demonstrate?” Their defenses held as the Tracers began their assault. They’d regrouped within minutes.

  Zeel glanced at her, and his hands flew over the controls in a blur. “The Surial will fight in clusters, then spread apart. I have the patterns programmed into the railguns, but we can manually utilize the bombers.”

  Indie was a quick student, and used the panel beside the central command post, staring into the glass ceiling. The Dread’s bridge was round, and it felt empty with just her and the Cepra on board. Thoughts of Earth and Ulison’s death kept resurfacing, but she dismissed them, knowing there would be plenty of time for self-deprecation when this skirmish was completed.

  The screen had a 3D projection of their nearby space, and the Tracers appeared as red lengths against the much larger Dread’s hull. Indie gasped as they struck repeatedly, and the shield levels decreased with every blow. “Are we able to strengthen our defenses?”

  “Only by diverting the charge from the River.”

  “Do it.” Indie fired the bomber, targeting not the closest, but the farthest Tracer. The sole vessel hung away from the conflict, as if keeping its option open to flee if necessary. It clearly wasn’t expecting the bomber, because the detonation from the direct hit was extraordinary. A small portion of the ship exploded as a result. The flames sputtered, and it pressed forward, joining the assault.

  “If I take the resid
ual River charge, you’ll be unable to access the Checkpoint,” Zeel said.

  “Ever?” She swallowed and set her sights on the same Tracer. It nearly evaded the strike, but its momentum was too strong. It burst into a million segments, like fireworks on the Fourth of July.

  The last seven fought harder, and Indie realized they had to make a tough choice.

  “Once the well is dry, there are a few ways to rejuvenate it, but also a chance the River will be lost to us for eternity,” Zeel told her. He was faster on the controls, his blasts hitting various objects with efficiency she didn’t yet have. The railguns sputtered their ammunition, and to Zeel’s credit, they did work well in anticipation of the Surial’s movements.

  The assault continued, and their shields were down to twenty-three percent when the second Tracer died. The lights flickered off, and the red icon on her projection vanished. Indie blew up a third, and a moment later, Zeel had two more destroyed.

  “Then there were three,” she whispered. The lingering Tracers flew erratically around the Dread, firing in complex patterns, likely searching for a weakness.

  “The railguns are ineffectual. They’ve learned what we were doing.” Zeel powered them off for the moment, conserving ammunition. “Shields at ten.”

  If they could…

  A blast shook the Dread, and she noticed a fracture spreading across the glass of the domed ceiling. “Use the River source.”

  Once she gave the order, there was no going back. The light from the tube drained, and the invisible barrier surrounding the Dread flashed twice before disappearing again.

  “Sixty-eight percent,” Zeel informed her.

  “Okay.” Now they had a fighting chance. They slowed the Dread, moving closer to a small, lopsided planetoid. “It’ll be difficult for them to maneuver with a slight gravitational pull.” And she was right. The first Tracer slowed, struggling to turn as quickly as before, and Zeel wrecked the enemy without hesitation.

  Indie pictured the Rusa children she’d pulled from beneath Unity Tower, and screamed in rage as they sent a burst of shots at the last two Tracers. She wanted to aid the infants—if not for herself, then for the sake of the Rusa. Those kids needed protection, and she would be that shield. Only hers wouldn’t drain like this Dread’s.

  And Alex. Her husband. She wasn’t sure they had a future, but she wanted to explore it. Could she be forgiven? Now that her head was finally clear from Ulison’s influence, she saw the path laid in front of her, and felt hope.

  “They’re not letting us hit them!” Indie grew frustrated as the Tracers darted around the modest moon. Instead of waiting for them, she decided to go for it. Indie targeted the hunk of rock and tapped the projected screen. The bomber sent a flurry of explosives, and she held her breath as the entire area went quiet.

  Then rock sprang from the destroyed planetoid, battering their defenses. When the bright bang subsided, the Tracers were gone.

  “Did they escape?” Indie asked.

  “No.” Zeel peered up at her. “They are dead.”

  Indie sighed, her hands gripping the controls so tight, it hurt. “We did it,” she whispered, wiping a sheen of sweat from her brow.

  Their shields were near forty percent, and every one of the eight Surial targets had been dealt with.

  “Where are we?” She went to the map, trying to decipher their location.

  “Far from Earth and farther from Nulit,” Zeel said.

  Indie watched as Zeel Three studied the schematics on his screen. “Is the Checkpoint okay?”

  His arms went rigid. “It’s fried. We cannot use it.”

  “How long to fly home?” she asked.

  “Two hundred years or so,” Zeel replied, and her knees nearly gave out.

  “No,” she muttered.

  “We have crossed to the other side of the Ocean. Perhaps we can find a naturally occurring Checkpoint,” he suggested.

  “Is that possible?”

  “Very.”

  “Then we’ll do it.”

  Indie smiled as they zoomed out on the radar, formulating a plan. She had screwed up everything, but she wasn’t going to concede.

  She had to find a way home.

  Indie would protect the Rusa at all costs.

  ONE

  Boca Raton, Florida

  The door opened with a little persuasion, and I stepped into my parents’ condo. I’d never visited the place, and instantly regretted that fact. Maybe I would have seen what became of them if I had. At the very least, we could have spent more time together.

  They were gone, and I missed them fiercely. I grinned, recalling my mother on the bridge of Herazel, flying the huge ship with Estelle Hart and the traitor Henry Davenport at the weapons station.

  The condo was stuffy, so I opened the balcony doors and stepped outside, soaking in the view. The ocean went on for as far as the eye could see, and I thought about the other Ocean. The device Indie had hidden at the old clubhouse was in a safe location, and I was anxious to learn what Ulison had been willing to risk his entire people for.

  What lay within the galaxies that would drive a man to this level of commitment? I would find the answer to that question, but we had a few steps to cross off beforehand.

  “This is their home?” Krissa followed me onto the balcony, staring at the water. Her dark hair blew in the wind, and I caught a whiff of her shampoo.

  “It was,” I said. “Come on. There has to be more.”

  We returned to the living room, and I noticed my mother’s affinity for small items. Little ceramic ducks and crystal bears lined a glass cabinet in the corner. I wondered if she’d even liked this stuff, or had it been part of her false identity? An act for the neighbors in their tight-knit community?

  “Now I’ve seen your home in Fayetteville and your parents’ condo in Florida.”

  “And I’ve been to Nulit.”

  “Not as it was,” she whispered. “Before it flooded. I used to play in those streets, feeling the sun on my cheeks as I hid from friends.”

  “Maybe we can fix it up,” I suggested.

  “Really?” Krissa reached for my hands. “I’d like that, Colton.”

  Desmond stuck his head into the front door, his expression grim. “I think we found it.”

  “We’ll be right there,” I told him.

  “What are you hoping to locate?” Krissa asked when he was gone.

  “They weren’t at the house.” I went to the bedroom, scouring the closet, and there it was. A shoebox from my kids’ size seven sneakers. Inside were the folded pieces of paper. Sketches done with colorful crayons on various sheets.

  “Did you make these?” Krissa took one, unfolding it. The symbol was in blue.

  “I did. What does it mean?” I assumed they were Rusa words.

  “Duty,” she whispered.

  I looked at another. An island surrounded by water. A ship in the air, but it was more of a black blob. “I think that’s Batis.”

  “Batis… that’s the island. The city is Ocean View,” she corrected me. Now that she had her memory, she recalled the name of their capital, and her former home.

  I took the rest and folded them up, shoving them into my pocket.

  “Come on.” I went outside, seeing Miya and Des climbing into the SUV. “Where are we going?”

  “Not far. An old electrical shop. Been shut down for years.” Desmond drove, skidding through the parking lot and onto the main streets. Boca Raton wasn’t as busy as it had been pre-Angor, but there were still vehicles on the roads. It was close enough to Miami to commute, but with the Angor departing, the world was at a pause.

  We didn’t know what to do with ourselves after existing under their control for the last two decades. It was like a prisoner being set free without any assistance. We were at a loss as a people, but I was confident we’d figure it out. Humanity was resilient.

  “How did you locate it?” I asked the pair in the front seats.

  “It wasn’t that tough. We
triangulated the prior messages sent from the Loyalists and ended up within a square mile. We used the Angor’s energy scanners, and since this region was deserted, it only took a few minutes to decipher their lair.” Miya smiled as she craned her neck to face us.

  Desmond raced down the road, not bothering to signal when he jarred the wheel to the right. The area was a mess, an old industrial section of town that had been rendered useless after the Angor’s arrival. Most people here didn’t move after that fateful day. They’d stuck around, doing jobs for the aliens. Miami had a giant Tower, a smaller version of Angor Tower in Central Park. The world’s fourth largest barge was off the shoreline of Florida, which meant a lot of workers had been required.

  “Here it is.” He slammed on the brakes, and it made me wonder if he’d ever driven before.

  “I’ll drive on the way back,” I muttered, opening the door.

  We stood in a strip mall parking lot, the old signs faded and impossible to read. The buildings were single story, with grimy windows and broken glass on the sidewalk. The closest resembled a bakery, another a pet food store. And there was the electrical repair shop.

  Miya peered at the entrance. “What do you hope to find?”

  “Peace of mind.” I’d struggled with my parents’ death, even after seeing them for one last time at the Rite of the Lost. It was hard to believe my mother had once been in charge of a network of dissenters. Dad, I could understand, with his constant commentary about how the Angor were ruining our entire race. But not her.

  The door was locked, but Desmond used a palm-sized device, picking the lock with ease. The metal bolt receded, and I slowly entered the premises. The front consisted of bare shelving, and a few rolls of twelve-gauge wire sat in neat spools beside a battery display.

  Krissa ran a finger over the dusty surface. “This is their base?”

  I continued through another door then stopped in my tracks. The cameras were no longer functioning, but the remnants of a base camp were evident. Cords sat on a dozen desks, some with monitors plugged in. The only computer towers remaining were broken beyond repair, and empty file folders were strewn on the floor in the rear left corner of the office.